Author Note: I'm not sure if this is complete or whether it needs more, so all reviews and criticisms are welcomed.
Update: Ha ha, yes the silence truly is deafening! Thanks to earthdrago, whose great review was much appreciated! As for Buzzkill Bunny…hmm…. You say I should stick to what I know? How do you know that I haven't been in an EXCEPTIONALLY similar situation, with an EXCEPTIONALLY similar person? Anyway, although your review was like a kick in the stomach (not really, but that's obviously what you want right?) I changed the title…..
Dicslaimer: I don't own anything to do with House etc…
Rating: For the moment T, may increase if I write more.
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Neither could understand what had happened between them, it was as if words weren't necessary to show how they felt. Instead all that was needed was a touch feather light across the bare skin at the base of her neck. All she needed was to feel wanted and she returned the touch with one of her own. Her slim fingers drew up his back, lines and circles- sometimes hesitant, sometimes sure. They came to rest at the nape of his neck, at the collar of his pressed white shirt they rested; her fingertips drew along the hair line knowing that they would make him shiver. He bent his head to lavish attention on her neck and on her collar bone; so gentle yet at the same time assertive, as if each movement of his lips was planned just to draw a reaction from her own small mouth.
Both knew it was not meant to be this way, but at the same time knew that this was what they needed- what they tried and failed to get from others, and now that they had found each other they could continue as if this was the only path they knew. It was not love that had brought them together. Instead it was a need; a passion lying deep at the heart of them. They both needed something that they were never to get from House. His dissatisfied best friend and his ingénue, a talented young woman who was too naïve for him to even consider. The difference here was that both had recognised something in each other that they shared and something that they needed. Doctor James Wilson had been House's confidant, his best friend for many years. He had seen House change into the bitter man that he was now. Always picking up the pieces left from whatever or whomever he had broken. It was too much responsibility for one man to take. He had fought his way through marriage after marriage- each time knowing that he could not find what it was that he was looking for. He used the marriages to pretend to himself that he had found his soul mate, found himself, but each time he knew that it was not meant to be. House was the one person he trusted and loved and he knew that House felt the same. Not that either one would admit it of course. Men don't do that, especially not doctors.
The problem was he always felt that he was the friend to House, not the other way around. House needed him, for his pills, for damage control and as someone to blame for all his problems. Wilson was used to it- the constant abuse of the word friendship and he knew it couldn't be any other way. Nor would he want it. It was enough to have one emotionally dysfunctional person in their relationship. Wilson was the strong one to appearances, but to himself he was just as damaged as House himself.
The slim hand of Allison Cameron was now making its way to the front of his shirt; her own had found its way to the floor minutes before and she was now standing in front of Wilson in her trousers and bra. The black of the lace clashed so harshly with her outward appearance. To others she was pastel coloured; all smiles and unflappable temperament. The only two people in the world who could see past the lies were herself and the other that was in the room. As she felt Wilson's fingers trace the line of the dark material she smiled to herself. Finally someone had seen who she really was, and for this she thanked him silently- not with words but with touches. Having rid him of the shirt she ran her fingers down his chest, her hand rested over his heart as she felt the warm throb in her fingertips, her hands slid further down until they rested on the waistband of his dress trousers. Always smart for appearances Wilson cared what others thought of him. His wardrobe- like hers- was a shield used to protect himself. After all it wouldn't do for somebody to see a knight without his suit of armour. Cameron needed him with her, she needed to feel someone touch her and physically need her. For so long she had kept her distance from a relationship of any kind. Having survived the death of her husband and more recently the complete rejection by her boss all she needed was to be held.
Each knew that this was wrong; it was a betrayal, but neither one cared. For now they needed each other- mentally, physically. That was all.